Fifty Ways to Leave
by iworkwithpens
Summary: In a million different ways, she was saying goodbye, bit by bit. It hurt him to realize he never saw it coming. Post 2 x 08. Forgive me for this, but in this story, the engagement never happened.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: First of all, let me apologize for my disappearance from the Newsroom fanfic scene, as both a writer and a reviewer. The last few months have been quite crazy, beginning with the adoption of a new puppy (lovingly named Kenzie, of course) and ending with an F4 tornado destroying my hometown (and my home) just two months ago. Now safely ensconced in my temporary housing, I can finally begin to write again. This is one I started some time ago, but just recently edited and polished. Many thanks to teanc09, LilacMermaid, Millie, and KatyCat for encouraging me to continue to write. Huge thanks to writingalone for listening to me whine about post-tornado clean-up and sending me clothing and household items. You guys rock! P.S.-Let's just assume that whole little Will/Mac engagement thing didn't take place for a moment here. I'm thrilled it happened, and I loved watching it, but what the heck is a writer supposed to do with happily ever after?! For the purposes of this story, we're going to assume most everything in season two, except for those last glorious few minutes, took place. Enough said. Read on…**

_The problem is all inside your head, she said to me  
>The answer is easy if you take it logically<br>I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free  
>There must be fifty ways to leave your lover<br>~50 Ways To Leave Your Lover, Paul Simon_

'Love your job and you'll never work a day in your life.' She remembered her father telling her that when she went to university. And, like so many other things he had told her, it proved to be useful and true. Her job had never been easy, or afforded her much down time, but it kept her mind occupied and her interest engaged. The news had never let her down…until now. But how do you leave the love of your life? Because, since it was clear she would never have Will, her job had become her lover and her spouse. It was the child she would never have and the grandbabies she would never rock.

But fucking Jerry Dantana had taken that from her too.

No, really, she couldn't blame him. Fuck that! Yes she could blame him! All her field experience and training had prepared her for cagey witnesses, and lying politicians, and double-speaking public relations people. It had never prepared her for willful disregard of journalistic ethics. It had never prepared her for…

"Mac?" Will asked as he popped his head into her office.

"Hmm?" she replied. Extra words were an effort these days. She needed every ounce of energy she had just to finish out the day and plot her exit. That's what she sat up at night doing. The lists were scattered about her apartment. It looked like a Xerox machine had exploded in her bedroom.

"You coming to the rundown? We're waiting for you."

"Jim can handle it. I have something I need to do" she answered, without looking up. She didn't know what he would see in her eyes anymore. Lies, guilt, fear, exhaustion? She couldn't risk it. So she stared down at the newspaper in front of her.

"What are you doing?" he pushed, as he came into the room, and stared down at the crown of her head.

"Reading." One word answers were good. One word answers were safe. Nobody ever went wrong with one word answers. Two word answers really fucking messed things up. Two word answers like Brian Brenner or Operation Genoa. She swore she would never use a two word answer again in her life.

"You're going to read _The New York Times_ instead of coming to a rundown meeting?" he asked incredulously.

"Hmm" she mumbled. Nonsensical murmurs were even better than one word answers. She was starting to think actual words were superfluous. But she knew he was still staring at her. Could feel his gaze burning into her skull.

"Mac, what's going on?" he pleaded. He sat down in front of her desk and tried to see her eyes from underneath the curtain of hair that was shielding her face. She continued to skim her fingers over the newspaper and pretend to read. 'Go away. Go away.' She wished she could say it out loud, but it was a two word answer. Maybe 'leave' would be better.

"Are you okay?" he whispered across the expanse of her desk, and if it weren't so sweet, she would have burst out laughing. _Am I okay? Are you fucking kidding me?_

"Alright, not the best way to phrase that question" he conceded. She tilted her head in acknowledgement. None of them were okay right now. It really was a ridiculous question.

"Are you sleeping?" he asked, and she couldn't possibly answer that. The truth was that, no, she hadn't slept through the night in more than two weeks. Not since Genoa. Not since they had to retract the story. She couldn't tell him that though. He'd never let her produce. Wait? Maybe that's not such a bad idea.

"Are _you_ sleeping?" she parroted back. When all else fails, deflect. That was her new motto.

"I have a tempurpedic mattress, one thousand thread count sheets, and a twenty year old bottle of scotch in my bedroom" he replied.

"Not an answer to my question Will. Not an answer to my question." Why did she repeat herself so much lately, she wondered? An effort to clarify her own muddled thinking? Because if Jerry fucking Dantana and Operation fucking Genoa could get by her, then her own brain could not be trusted. Of that she was sure.

She continued to stare down at her newspaper in the hope that Will would leave soon. She randomly drew another bright pink line across the inky page and watched as the newsprint mingled with the highlighter and became a jumbled line of pinky grey. It was mesmerizing the way the bold, imaginative words of Thomas Friedman blurred to become nothing more than a sickly blotch on the page. Even the best journalism was here today, gone tomorrow. She continued to slash bright pink lines across the page with gusto. The mindless joy it brought her was a comfort. Slash…slash…slash.

"Mac. Stop!" Will shouted, pulling the highlighter from her shaking hands.

"May I have that back please?" she asked, quietly and simply, as a small child would. She held her hand out, but when he didn't comply, she simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to run her fingers across the newspaper. It was more an attempt to calm herself than it was an actual reading aide at this point. Will backed away from her and she didn't even notice the movement. He quickly ran down the hall.

"Sloan!" Will barked into the economist's office a moment later.

"Yeah?" she responded, barely looking up from her keyboard.

"There's something wrong with Mac" he said quietly, both for Mackenzie's privacy and because he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words. Mackenzie McHale bounced back from anything. But not this, apparently. Not Jerry Dantana.

"Of course there is Will. There's something wrong with all of us. We let that asshole pull the wool over our eyes and we're better than that" Sloan grumbled. But Will still stood there. She looked at him and could see the worry etched into the lines on his face.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, rising from her seat. Will motioned her toward Mac's office.

Mackenzie was making a sort of humming noise now. Just a constant, low rumble as her fingers ran back and forth across the pages of _The Times_. She wasn't taking in any of it, that much was clear, she never turned a page or stopped moving her fingers. Just smudged the ink around with her hand. It was like watching a child fingerpaint or pretend that they knew how to read.

"Kenz?" Sloan asked, moving slowly toward her friend.

"Hmm?" Mackenzie replied, barely changing the tone of her constant humming.

"What are you doing?" Sloan took a seat now, in front of the desk, and looked up at Will for a moment. He shrugged.

Finally Mackenzie gazed up at her and smiled slightly. But it was a cold, vacant stare, like she was looking right through everyone and everything in the room.

"When was the last time she slept?" Sloan asked, Will shrugged his shoulders again.

"I tried that question already. Didn't go so well" he admitted.

"Mackenzie!" Sloan shouted, simultaneously snapping her fingers in front of her friend's eyes.

"Hmm?" Mackenzie asked again, clearly not understanding anything that was being asked of her.

"You've got to get her out of here. She's barely conscious Will."

"Any ideas on how I _do_ that Sloan? She's a grown woman. Wearing three inch heels. I don't want to get a stiletto to the groin if I try to pick her up" Will muttered. But he too knew that they couldn't let Mackenzie stay at the office like this. She was a walking zombie.

"Do you think she even realizes where she is?" Sloan turned toward Will. The sight of her friend was really fucking scaring her and she wished she'd never come in here. Will shrugged. Damn it! He was nearly as lost as Mackenzie was, but then, he'd depended on her for everything. He didn't know it, he probably liked to think he was his own man, but Mackenzie pulled his strings so delicately and with such conniving genius that he was never aware there were any strings at all.

"I've got an idea" Sloan whispered, crooking her finger toward him and leading him to his office.

"Put this on" she ordered, holding out an Armani suit, and Will had to wonder if she'd lost her mind too.

"It's three in the afternoon Sloan. I'm not on the air for five hours. I really don't enjoy sitting around in those things, you know?" he asked, because he wasn't sure she did know. Armani, Hugo Boss, Zegna…they all looked good, and he was aware that he wore them well, but he really preferred his jeans or corduroys and a tee-shirt.

"_You_ know that, and _I _know that, but _she_ doesn't seem to know much of anything right now. So put on the damn suit Will!" Sloan commanded, and fuck all if he didn't snap to attention and run for his bathroom. Sloan smirked. Adopting the tone Mackenzie used with him worked…apparently.

"Now what?" he asked, when he returned a few minutes later, suit and tie in place.

"Now we mess with her mind" Sloan grinned. It was sort of a manic, disturbed grin though, and it frightened Will. What the hell had Genoa done to all of them?

"Kenz? Time to go. You've been here way too late. Will's been waiting for you" Sloan cheerily told the E.P. as she entered her office again. Mackenzie looked up blankly and let her gaze fall on the two of them. She blinked several times, but looked down at the paper and folded it up. She grabbed some books and magazines, her notepad and her laptop, and threw everything into her bag as she nodded a half-hearted goodnight at them and slogged her way through the newsroom.

Will and Sloan stood there for a moment, staring at each other, amazed that their ruse had worked. Then Sloan snapped to attention and pushed him out the door.

"What are you waiting for?! Follow her. We can't let her wander the streets of New York like this!" she shouted.

"But what am I supposed to do now?" he asked, truly curious as to how he was supposed to convince Mackenzie it was nearly midnight. It was a sunny fall afternoon. Surely, the woman wasn't so oblivious to her surroundings that she would mindlessly wander home in the glaring sun, and believe she had _actually_ just produced the evening news?!

"Just trust me. Go grab her before she gets on the elevator. I'll call for a car and have it waiting in the parking garage. If you never let her out the front doors she won't _see_ that's it's the middle of the afternoon. Get her home Will. Get her to sleep" Sloan pleaded, because he might just be the only one who could do it.

"This way Kenz" he urged her onto the elevator, and miraculously, she followed. She stood, staring at the number display above the door, watching as they slowly moved closer to their destination. She seemed confused for just a moment, as the doors opened, and revealed the darkened bowels of the attached parking structure.

"I'm going to give you a ride home Kenz. Come on" he urged, and she seemed to stop for just a moment. He panicked. The last thing he needed right now was to have to physically haul Mackenzie into a car. Thankfully, she slipped into the black towncar with darkened windows that appeared just moments later. She was still eerily quiet.

"Mac?" he asked. She looked around. First at the interior of the car and then at him. She seemed to be on the verge of asking a question, but she simply leaned against the car door and let her head thump against the window. She closed her eyes. He thought she might have fallen asleep when he heard her begin to mumble the words to a Paul Simon song.

"She said it grieves me so to see you in such pain. I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again. I said, I appreciate that and would you please explain about the fifty ways."

It took him a moment, because her lips barely moved as she quietly sang the words, but he soon recognized the lyrics to _50 Ways to Leave Your Lover_. She laughed briefly as she started in on the more quirky and upbeat chorus.

"You just slip out the back, Jack. Make a new plan, Stan. You don't need to be coy, Roy. Just get yourself free. Hop on the bus Gus. You don't need to discuss much. Just drop off the key, Lee. And get yourself free."

Was that what she was doing? Plotting her escape? He'd assumed her lack of sleep and generally less than pleasant demeanor of late had to do with her shock over Genoa and her absolute and utter hatred of Jerry Dantana. He had no idea she still harbored guilt over it. That she truly felt like they'd all be better off without her. _No one_ at ACN would be better off without her, least of all him.

She is nearly asleep, or maybe unconscious, by the time they reach her apartment and he has to carry her upstairs. His back and his knees will not be thanking him in the morning. He manages to get her inside, after fishing around in her purse for her keys, and nearly drops her on the bed. She makes only a small grunt in reply.

"Sorry" he whispers, pulling off her shoes and trying to clear some of the paperwork from her bed. Only, it's not paperwork. It's lists, and hastily scribbled notes, and page after page of apologies. To him, to Charlie, to ACN…to all of them. She's apologizing for letting them all down.

"Jesus, Mac" he whispers, pushing the hair back out of her face. She's burning up, he realizes, and goes into the bathroom to wet a washcloth and lay it across her forehead. He runs to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Tylenol and returns to her side, trying to pull her into a sitting position so she can take the pills.

"You've got to help me a little here Mac" he pleads, tugging at her dead weight.

"Sorry Billy. I'm so sorry" she begins to weep. And it's only hours later, as he's wrapped her in a blanket and rocked her to sleep whispering words of forgiveness and love, that she manages to calm and fall into a deep, hard sleep.

"What the fuck have we done to you Mac? What the fuck have _I_ done to you?" And how do I fix it, he wondered sadly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Many apologies for taking far too long to post this second chapter. Unfortunately, real life and writer's block have intruded. Also, for clarity's sake, I like to think Lonny is still part of Will's life, so let's welcome him back to my fictional season two world.**

_I've been the needle and the thread  
>Weaving figure eights and circles round your head<br>I try to laugh, but cry instead  
>Patiently wait to hear the words you've never said<br>~Must Get Out, Maroon 5_

She awoke, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and a vague sense that she was not alone. She scanned the room slowly until she saw him, seated by the window, and despite her fatigue she nearly leapt from the bed.

"Jesus, Will! What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?" she screeched, her dry throat making the statement sound more harsh and accusatory than she had meant it to. She leaned back into the pillows and waited. He continued to stare.

"Did I do this Kenz?" he finally asked.

"What? Did you do what Will?" she wondered, scrubbing her hands over her face and rubbing her eyes. Obviously she had missed something important here, but that wasn't all that uncommon an occurrence of late. Shit, must every morning start with a new self admonishment for allowing herself to trust Jerry Dantana?

"_This_" he replied forcefully, holding up piles of paperwork, clenched tightly in both hands. Her lists…he was reading her lists…her very detailed little exit plan from ACN. She exhaled forcefully. She was far too tired for this conversation right now. In fact, she doubted she'd ever feel rested enough to have this fight, or any other, with him again.

"Those aren't yours" she growled. She liked to think that she had learned a lesson from him these past couple of years…when all else fails, deflect with anger.

"No? Many of them seem to pertain to me. A few even seem as if they were written for me. So, tell me Mac, were you even going to say good-bye?" he pleaded. And fuck, it really was the last straw for her.

"Was I going to say good-bye?! You've got to be fucking kidding me Will! You haven't wanted me here since day one. You pushed me out of your apartment five years ago and never looked back, never read one damn email, and you think I owe you a good-bye?!" She flopped back against her pillows, straining for breath, and willing herself to calm down. She didn't have the energy for this kind of shit anymore.

"I couldn't read them" he admitted softly, head bowed, and clenched fists dropping the scraps of paper he held to the floor.

"Why?" she asked, voicing for the first time the question that had so haunted her. "If you were so damn committed to us that you had already bought a ring, that you were prepared to _marry me_, why the hell couldn't you bring yourself to even _look_ at the damn emails Will?"

And the words were out of his mouth before he could even stop them…before he considered the damage or the consequences. What he had wanted to say was something along the lines of, 'that's not important right now Mackenzie. What's important is that we get our shit together and defeat this ridiculous excuse for a lawsuit!' What came out instead was:

"I didn't buy the ring Mac." It was as if his conscience couldn't take it any longer. If she had felt it necessary to tell him about Brian Brenner before they moved forward, then he owed her the same…the complete, unvarnished truth.

"What do you…who…?" But the sentence hung in the air, whether because she was afraid of the answer or because she was so stunned she couldn't bring herself to voice the question, he didn't know.

"Scott's assistant. I sent my manager's assistant to buy the ring. I knew you were doing the opposition research and you would come in, waving the proof in my face that I was never really as serious as I've said I was and, well, it was a joke. No, it was more of a rejoinder. It was…" he rambled, stopping when he caught sight of the look of sheer horror on her face.

"A joke?" she whispered, as if just uttering those two little syllables had caused her pain. She had been angry just moments before. She had almost felt like her old self for a moment, ready to go toe to toe with him and force him to have a real, honest to God, emotional conversation with her. Ready to make him explain this ridiculous fucking dance they'd been doing for more than two years. Now she just felt numb. Shit, she truly hadn't thought her life could get any worse right now. She was wrong.

"I didn't mean it…I didn't think…I" he stuttered, realizing he was only making this worse. Holy fuck! If she'd been ready to leave before, she sure as hell was going to have one foot out the door pretty damn quickly if he didn't fix this. If he didn't find some way to convince her she couldn't go. He wished she would cry, or scream at him, or beat angry fists against his chest. This silence was killing him. How much longer could she sit there, hands over her mouth, and stare at him?

Then the hiccoughing sob began to well up in her throat, and her face twisted into that painful grimace that she always got just before she would begin to cry, and…nothing. No tears, no wailing moan, nothing. She just sat there and gaped at him.

"You can't leave right now Mackenzie" he commanded, because he could sense that if he didn't control what happened in the next five minutes, he would never see her again, and he couldn't handle that.

She tilted her head, as if asking a question, but she never took her hands away from her mouth and she never made a sound.

"You're in no shape to give a deposition. We sure as hell can't let Dantana's lawyers get their hands on you right now. I'm not even sure you should go to the office for the next few days. There are reporters outside the building just waiting for one of us to slip up and shout some off-color comment at them because we're tired as fuck of being asked about Genoa. You need to get out of town for a while Mac. _We_ need to get out of town for a while…regroup, strategize, consider our options."

There. He'd done it. Presented a reasonably sound argument as to why Mackenzie needed to stay within his sights 24/7 for the next few days. He could do this…he could make this totally irrational plan sound logical and necessary.

"I need you to leave now Will" she whispered softly, finally dropping her hands into her lap. She stared at her fingers, mindlessly twisting the blanket that covered her, and breathed deeply. She waited for him to move.

"Mac" he began, as he slowly raised himself from his seat and reached toward her, but she flinched away and he had a sudden memory of his mother, recoiling from his father's fists. He'd sworn he would never become that man, never raise a hand to a woman, and he hadn't…but he'd broken her all the same. He pulled his hands back in a surrendering gesture and returned to his seat.

"I need you to leave, because I think there's a credible threat that I'm going to hit you. And you need to be on the air tonight and the last thing we need is for the audience to think you and Jerry Dantana got in a fist fight. So, I need you to go now. I'll take your suggestion under advisement."

She still refused to lift her head to look at him, but every inch of her screamed 'get the hell out of my apartment.' He gave in, not because he thought it was the right thing to do, but because he had hurt her enough.

"I'm sorry" he said, one last time, before shutting the door behind him. He had no clue how he survived the rest of the day. At one point Sloan walked into his office, fully intending to grill him about what had happened with Mackenzie, he knew, but one look at his face sent her scurrying away. He never really heard one word _anyone_ said to him that day. All he could hear, or see, or think about was the look on her face when he told her about the ring. The fucking ring! All day long he found himself itching to unlock his desk drawer and toss the damn ring into the Hudson.

He robotically managed to get through the show and trudged down to his waiting towncar. Lonny held open the front passenger side door and he slunk in, relieved to have that first show without Mackenzie out of the way. If this was what the rest of his life was going to be like, wandering around in a fog, trying to wipe the memory of that awful, stunned look on her face out of his mind, he'd never survive it.

"Five days Will. You have five days to fix this. I'll buy into your little scheme about going away to regroup and strategize for five days. But then, we're done" Mackenzie's voice said, in a startlingly dead monotone from the backseat of the car. He whipped his head around. There she sat, a small suitcase on the seat next to her, and dark sunglasses on her face…at ten at night. She'd either spent the day crying or she was trying to avoid looking at him. Maybe both.

_Five days_. It wasn't much…but he'd take it.

"Drive Lonny" he ordered the man next to him, quickly scribbling an address on a piece of paper and handing it over. He darted his gaze back toward the woman behind him. She was looking out the window, her head leaning on the glass wearily, the weight of the world upon her shoulders. Suddenly his phone vibrated against his hip and he reached for it. A text message from Sloan.

'She's giving you one more chance. Don't mess it up jackass.'

"Yeah, like I needed _that_ piece of advice" he muttered under his breath.

"You sure as hell need _someone's_ advice" Lonny whispered, glancing back at Mackenzie and shaking his head sadly.

_Fuck_, he thought wearily. Five days to undo five years of damage. _Please, let this work._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: Wow! I feel like I am forever going to be apologizing for taking so freaking long updating my stories. I blame it on Sorkin, and word that season three will only be six, pitiful little episodes long. I also blame it on living in a teeny, tiny little town, post-tornado, that requires me to drive a million miles in every direction to get anything done. Many thanks to Millie, and a few others of you, who have bugged me for an update, and also to writingalone for excellent song lyrics. Without further ado, I give you chapter three…**

_Goodbye, my almost lover  
>Goodbye, my hopeless dream<br>I'm trying not to think about you  
>Can't you just let me be?<br>~Almost Love, A Fine Frenzy_

He didn't have a lot of time to think, or plan, or recreate the first vacation they'd ever taken together (which, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't quite ready to do yet anyway) so they ended up at The Castle Hotel in upstate New York. He'd always wanted to take her there…now seemed as good a time as any. He knew, if he fucked this up, he might never get the chance again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she grumbled, as she dropped her bags to the ground and looked around at the, even to him, alarmingly romantic suite.

"It's not like I _requested_ the honeymoon suite" he said, smiling sheepishly at her.

"I'm going to bed" she huffed, grabbing up her bag and stomping off toward the bedroom, leaving him standing there, alone with Lonny.

"Don't look at me" the bodyguard replied, when Will looked around the room, wondering what to do next. "AWM doesn't pay me enough to stay in this room with you. Did you really think a fancy hotel room would fix all the shit you've put her through the past couple of years?"

"I don't know what the hell I thought" Will admitted.

"Well, at least you're being honest about it." That brought Will up short for just a moment. Was he finally ready to do that? Be honest…with her, with himself? Jesus, if he wasn't ready now, he never would be, and he owed Mac that much. She had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders for so long now, longer than was really necessary, and add to that Genoa. How could he possibly expect her to lug around any more guilt, or regret, or shame?

Sleep didn't come easily that night. He had no idea what he would say to her, come morning, and he was terrified he was going to screw it all up. To top it off, he heard her rustling around in the bedroom all night. Did the woman _ever_ sleep?

Somewhere around three in the morning, he saw a sliver of light shining underneath the bedroom door and he turned to watch the shadows shift and move, as Mackenzie apparently paced back and forth. The sound of the doorknob being turned, painfully slowly, had his ears on alert, but he feigned sleep.

"I know you're awake Will. You snore as loud as a fucking freight train and it's too damn quiet out here for you to possibly be asleep" she announced, as she entered the room and moved toward the small wet bar in the corner. He blinked into the darkness and waited. Finally, a small light near the bar was flipped on and he could see her setting to work on making coffee.

"You haven't slept in God knows how long and you're making coffee at three in the morning?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbow and watching her from his makeshift bed on the sofa.

"I don't sleep, Will. Aren't you the one who told me I looked like I'd been grown in a dark, damp environment?" she snorted, staring at the coffee maker and willing it to move faster.

She looked, impossibly, even more tired than she had at the studio. He examined her scrubbed face in the shadowy darkness. Still hauntingly beautiful, but without make-up, she looked fragile, broken and defeated. She grabbed the cup of black coffee and began sipping at it, as she headed back toward the bedroom without a single glance in his direction.

"Wait!" he shouted. She stopped, but made no move to turn to face him.

"What?" she barked out.

"You need cream and sugar. Let me get you some" he offered. Anything to make her stay with him just a little bit longer.

"I don't. Black is fine" she replied, but stood stock still, just inches from the bedroom door.

"Since when?" he asked, wondering how his Mackenzie, who used to dump cream and sugar into her coffee like a teenager trying to feign interest in the bitter brew, could possibly take her coffee black.

"I don't know, Will. Since Iraq. Since Pakistan. Since I've been working at cross purposes with my anchor twenty-four damn hours a day! The need for cream and sugar pale in comparison to the need for caffeine. Generally speaking, I take what I can get." She finished her speech, but continued to stand there, facing the door, with her back to him.

'I take what I can get.' That's what she'd said, and didn't that just speak volumes about their situation of late? She settled for any meager little morsel of kindness, or possible forgiveness, he deigned to give her. He had enjoyed it…for a while. Knowing that her happiness was twined up in his willingness to let her back in. It gave him a power over her that he relished, because apparently, she'd had no idea the power she had over him. All those years ago, his heart was in her hands, and she'd crushed it. For the past two years, he'd gleefully played with her emotions like the sadistic kid on the playground, holding a magnifying glass over ants and watching them be scorched alive.

"You shouldn't have to" he replied, softly. She snorted.

"I shouldn't have to what, Will?" she pushed, whispering harshly into the darkened room.

"You shouldn't have to take what you can get. Did I do that to you?" he asked, more than a little afraid of the answer, and fully aware of the fact that he was repeating himself. He'd asked her the same question yesterday, as he'd discovered her lists full of reasons she needed to leave _NewsNight_ and how she would prepare the staff for her departure.

"_Life_ did that to me, Will. Goodnight" she said tersely, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Sleep never did quite claim him that night. He was too busy reliving the past two years, and more specifically, the past few months in his head. How many times had he taken everything she had to offer and given nothing in return? How many 'Rudy' moments had Mac delivered unto him, expecting (and getting), nothing in return? Maybe it was time to change that.

When she entered the sitting room of their suite the next morning, she found a table filled with every possible breakfast food in the known universe.

"Cream and sugar. Coffee and tea. Cereal, oatmeal, eggs, French toast, yogurt, granola. I couldn't think of what else you might like" he told her, smiling, as he spread his hands out to display all the goodies he had ordered from room service.

"I don't eat breakfast anymore Will. But please, don't let me keep you from yours." She poured herself another cup of coffee (black, again) and grabbed the newspaper, taking it out onto the balcony and blinking up into the late fall sunshine.

"It's freezing out there Mac. Please, come inside" he begged.

"I'm fine" she responded, casually, spreading the paper out on her thighs and speed-reading her way through the first section in mere minutes. At least _that_ hadn't changed. But everything else had, and he wondered now, why he hadn't noticed before.

Where had the old Mackenzie gone? And, more importantly, where was this new version planning on going if he couldn't talk her into staying with ACN?


End file.
